Sable Takes Xanth (part 1)
by LemurKat
Summary: What happens when a real ElfQuest Elf gets into Xanth?
1. Default Chapter Title

_After reading too much ElfQuest and too much Xanth, I came to wondering, what would it be like if a real Elf (and face it, Jenny is NOT your typical elf) came to Xanth, so here's the first part of the story. Unfortunately, it is a lot harder to write Xanth then you might think, so I never got past this point, but if you give me support and maybe suggestions (I knew what Sable needed once, but forgot and never wrote it down...). So please review this and maybe, one day, you might encourage me to continue it!_

Sable is a Windwalker, from my winged ElfQuest tribe (more of them in the ElfQuest section); and Hope and all the other characters are (c) me, although Xanth is (c) Piers Anthony. Enjoy!

Please Note: I am kinda parodying Xanth, see if you can spot where!

Sable Takes Xanth

(The Windwalker of Xanth)

There was a storm a-brewing, Sable could taste it. The chill wind ruffled his wing feathers the wrong way, the bitter tendrils tugging at his long, dark hair. He glanced below him but the tumultuous silver surface offered no comfort, no sanctuary. Not even the wave leapers could be seen. How far it was to the coastline he could not even surmise. A distance certainly. It was a chore crossing the ocean when one was not able to soar effortlessly like the great albatross. Sable was a Windwalker, a bird-elf, and this was his home, the World of Two Moons. And he was about to embark on what could be the most bizarre adventure of his not-so-short life.

The windgusts grew stronger, more savage in their tuggings. The air grew colder and chaotic gusts threatened to drown the flying elf. Huge grey clous churned through the sky, blocking out most of the light from the sun. No life stirred. Inside the Windwalker was frightened, trying not to panic. His life had been far from easy and his soul was more than a little scarred - he knew what fear was. It was too late to turn back, too late to return to the sea-elves, too late to do anything but hope to make it to shore afore the storm broke. Too slow - the clouds, pregnant to the point of bursting, birthed their waters in a tumultuous shower.

Wind and rain, rain and wind. Rain that soaked through his feathers, draining the life from them. Wind that pushed him closer to the grasping white tipped waves.

Flapping desperately, lungs gasping for air. Spinning. Sky becoming water, becoming sky. Chillness seeping in. Cold, wet. Darkness consuming all. The elf was dragged beneath the waters by greedy, grasping fingers. Panic was replaced by tranquility.

*

"You must waken dear one," soft dulcet tones roused Sable from his slumber. He pried open his bloodshot eyes, then slammed them shut again. For he was still beneath the water, and in a very strange place indeed. For it appeared to be a den, and fairly comfortable. A bed of seaweed, a coral dressing table and a carpet of shells decorated the chamber. The walls appeared to be formed of coral, twisted and lovingly entwined amongst each other. Orange and white fish darted about, circling each other and chasing one another. One appeared to be juggling grains of sand. Sable wisely ignored them, as amusing and entertaining as they surely were. Someone was stroking his hair.

"Oh goodie," the voice exclaimed. "The little one is awake."

Sable managed to open his eyes and focus on her. She had long golden hair and skin pale, with a golden sheen. Although attractive, she was somewhat too human for Sable's liking, despite the fact that below the waist her legs were replaced by a fish's tail. The water rippled around them, and he wondered why he coud breath.

"Where am I?" He asked, amazed how easily the words came. Despite being known as "The Silent One", Sable was not necessarily mute - he had huge difficulty Sending (the only mode of communication for Windwalkers). He could speak, but did not normally do so. But right now he desired answers!

"In Coral Grotto," the strange woman replied. He was resting in her lap, if you could call it that. "The porpoises brought you to me, therefore there must be some great porpoise for you being here."

Something she said made him shudder, although he knew not what.

"I am Megan Merwoman," she continued. "Who might you be, strange winged one from another world?"

"They call me Sable," he stuttered, having still not completely recovered from the pun.

"Who does?"

The question threw him. "Why, everyone who knows my name."

Megan chuckled. "And what manner of creature, be you who fell from the sky."

Again Sable had to pause. "My people call themselves Windwalkers. Why is it I can breath and talk down here?"

The merwoman looked slightly taken aback. "I have never heard of such as you, but then I do not venture out much. My home here is enchanted, so to you it differs little from the surface, except of course for resistance. Now," she continued, "you must be hungry, would you like a sea biscuit?" She proffered him something vaguely circular. It appeared to be some sort of dark animal with many tiny legs. Sable had eaten worse. He accepted it and crunched into it. The taste surprised him, for it was not meat or fish-like at all, in fact tasted nothing like the starfish he had eaten with the Wavedancers. It was crunchy, with a sweet, nutty taste. He gobbled it down. Then he stared into Megan's golden eyes. His eyes were not drawn to her voluptuous breasts, which were naked and bobbed with the water currents. He was an elf, and elves worried little about nudity.

"When can I return to land?"

Megan appeared slightly stunned, as though she had expected her heaving bosom to vamp him and had certainly not expected to be totally ignore. In true Piers Anthony style she inhaled dramatically, making her bosom heave in a way that would have any typical Xanthian male drooling.

"Are you alright?" Sable, not the typical average male, inquired. He appeared not to notice her rewarding glare. Windwalker females were by nature petitie and muscular, and large breasts were not only awkward in flying but downright dangerous. The females Sable preferred were lithe.

"Are you sure you wish to leave so soon?" She asked, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously. 

He nodded. A clownfish somersaulted in front of his face, before another one chased it away. "I find it disconcerting being below the water."

"Fine," sighed Megan. "I'll have Weedy carry you out of here." She picked up a shell from the table and blew on it.

It emitted no noise, but a few moments later a strange creature swam in. It was large, longer than three humans lying head to toe. It had a long pipe-like snout, mad beady eyes, a plump body and a lizardine tail. Spines adorned its head and tail, and its twin dorsal fins resembled handles.* Its scales were golden in hue. Turning its mad eyes to Megan, it made a strange bubbling noise.

"This is Weedy Sea-Dragon," Megan grinned as she saw Sable's surprise. "Just cling to his dorsal fins and he shall carry you to shore." She paused, drawing herself closer to him and breathing sexily in his ear. "Although, you can stay if you so desire." Her large breasts pushed against him in a manner designed to be distracting.

"No thank you," Sable replied, seemingly oblivious to her obvious flirtations, "I feel quite strange down here and would feel most comfortable with air around me. I am, after all, a creature of the skies just as you are a creature of the seas."

That comment brought a thought of his daughter to his mind, Seaswallow, for she was a creature both of the sky and the sea. He wondered how she fared, but she was an adult now, and well able to make her own decisions. Sable had seen much and travelled very far, but never this far before, never beyond the World of Two Moons.

Weedy circled around and came to rest beside him, the dragon's bulk took up most of the chamber. As he gripped onto those dorsal fins, and Weedy began to swim, somewhat slowly, away, he heard Megan shout.

"Oh yes, once you leave the grotto you better hold your breath."

Suddenly Weedy shot forward, like an arrow from a bow. Sable had barely managed to get a final gasp of air before the Sea-Dragon entered the unenchanted waters. Hopefully the beast understood his necessity to breath, otherwise things could be most heinous indeed!

The Sea-Dragon shot upwards. He paused infrequently and Sable began to feel light headed. By the time Sable was about to give up and inhale the water, Weedy broke to the open air. Luckily the ocean here was not very deep. The dragon leapt across the waters as effortlessly as one of the Wavedancers dolphin friends. It was nightfall. And there was ust one lone moon hanging in the sky.

Sable was not in the World of Two Moons anymore.

Weedy dumped him on the beach. It was a strange, long beach with golden sand and golden plants. In fact, now Sable began to think about it, everything he had seen so far had been golden - the Merwoman, the Sea-dragon... not the clownfish however. What a strange world this was. He paused on the beach, fanning the water from his wings as he watched Weedy dive back into the ocean. Most of his belongings had gone, for his knapsack had been lost and so had his spear. He was just glad he still retained one of his knives and his small leather belt pouch, although its contents were induitably ruined. Something on the beach appeared to be staring at him. He paused and picked it up. It was a shell, but it looked exactly like an eye. As he looked at it, it blinked, and he almost dropped it in surprise. Probably just a trick of the light, he surmised as he put it in the pouch, removing the sodden tinder. He was pleased to see the Moondisc was still there - the small black stone had been a gift from Skimmer, Seaswallow's mother. The two were Recognised, and although neither loved the other, there had been some affection there - of all the Wavedancers, Skimmer, with her deformed feet, had understood Sable, for they had both been damaged in some way - she physically and he mentally. The Moondisc was magical, for it glowed with a silver light in the presence of ceratin items - you just had to ask it what you wanted, and it would lead you to it with the glow. It would not do to lose that!

When his wings were comfortably non-soaked, he flapped rather eraatically into the first tree he could find. It always felt better to sleep off the ground. The bark of the tree seemed to have a golden sheen, but that could have been a trick of the moonlight. Sleep caught him easily, it had been an exhausting day.

He dreamed of Torturer - the human who had kept him captive in a shed for five years several centuries ago. It had been Torturer that had scarred him, both mentally and physically, for Sable had lost the tip of one ear to the human's cruel knife. Sable despised humans in a fashion that bordered on obsession. The dream awoke him with a start - it was dawn, and he fancied he could see strange mostly circles on the ground beneath the trees, like those of a horseshoe. His muscles were stiff and his mind was in turmoil from the dream. Eventually the golden sun and the merry dawn chorus calmed his nerves and he began to feel quite hungry. The golden sand extended in front of him almost as far as the eye could see, until it met the silvery blue waters of the ocean. All was serene. A small flock of long-legged birds stalked the edge of the water, occasionally pointing their long bills to the sky, making odd calls and chuckling to each other.* All the foliage was golden in colour. 

Hunger gnawed at his belly, and he eyed the wading birds with a hungry glint in his emerald eyes. Within an instance his knife was between his teeth - where Windwalkers always carried them when hunting. He extended his wingarms and soared effortlessly from his perch. As he approached the birds, some of them startled and began flapping away. Several others watched him curiously for a moment too long. He selected his target easily, a plump bird that had been too slow. Swooping on it, he prevented it from properly becoming airborne and forced it back to the ground. Naturally, he overshot, and by the time he had turned about the bird was struggling to be airborne again. So he dived on it again, forcing it earthwards. It was now a battle of endurance and finally Sable was the victor. With a well placed kick (with his hardened toed boots) the stunned bird flopped to the ground, and Sable glided down effortlessly after it, despatching it with the knife.

The meat was rich and tender and Sable was very hungry. He plucked the feathers swiftly, obscuring himself in a cloud of feathers, and quickly polished off the animal, until nothing was left but bones and some of the innards. Sable wished he knew what had happened to Scrag, his raven-friend (all ravens were "Scrag" to Sable), but the poor bird had disappeared during the storm. The beach was now unnaturally quiet. Now what to do? He thought, patting his gorged belly. He knew not where he was, but that had never stopped him before, he rarely knew where he was. Well, the water was out of the question, so it was inland or along the beach. An interesting looking outcrop of rock to what he thought was the south took his attention, why not investigate that? Flapping slowly, and somewhat heavily, he followed the beach along. It was not long before a strange creature caught his eye. It appeared to be a very large hair-comb, but it was moving across the beach as though it were alive. Before it was a huge pile of flotsom and jetsom, being pushed along by the teeth. Ah, a beachcomber, Sable thought, suffering another involuntary shudder. It was of little consequence to him, for he was airborne, until he saw something lying just before it. He dropped before it, scooped up a sodden black bundle and leapt over it and out of the way just in time. Sable's legs were very muscular, for he had perfected the art of becoming airborne from a standing jump, and could jump higher than any other Windwalker he knew. He clutched the bedraggled raven to his chest, broke down and cried.

For an unknown length of time he sat on the newly raked sand, nursing the sodden corpse that had been his only companion in the world.

"Are you ok?" the voice behind him made him jump. He whirled about to find himself facing a petite bird-woman whose appearance was, if anything, weirder than the merwoman. Her head and torso were those of a young, relatively attractive woman, but her wing-arms and below the waist regions were those of a predatory bird. Her eyes were large, and the dark-brown of the damned.

Sable forced a smile. It mattered little, for all his smiles appeared forced. "I'll live."

"Yeah," the bird-woman replied. "Won't we all."

There was something about her tone of voice that made Sable ponder. She sounded about as cheerless as he. "He was my friend," he offered as way of explaination, showing her what remained of Scrag.

She smiled sadly. "Poor thing," she gently patted the bird's lolling head, "I never really had a friend."

"Never?!" Sable was startled, he vaguely remembered his closest elven friend, an elf named Jay. Jay had saved him from the Torturer and had stood by him when he lost his ability to Send. He resisted the urge to pat her on the shoulder.

She shook her head. "They all left me," she muttered in a manner that hinted at self-pity. Her hair was long, thick and a rich chestnut brown. It was also unruly, and fill of tangles and bits of leaf and bark.

"That's sad," he replied, sincerely, finally put an arm around her unusual shoulders. "You can call me Sable," he informed her.

"Ok," she replied, a little more cheer in her voice, "why?"

"Because that is my name," he replied. "Or what my parents named me anyway. And who might you be?"

"My parents named me Hopeless, Hopeless Harpy."

"You are a harpy?" He queried, to his people harpies were a large eagle. "Hopeless is not much of a name, I think I shall call you Hope."

"Yes, I am a Harpy, and you can call me whatever you want. My parents wanted a boy, so I was something of a disappointment to them when the stork delivered me instead."

"Stork?" The elf was confused. To him a stork was a long-necked bird, but perhaps they acted as nursemaids here?

Hope gave him a brief rundown of how the stork delivering service worked in Xanth, with the birds carrying the babies to their parents. This both startled and confused Sable, who told her the Two Moons version. She paled visibly, looking a little green around the gills, which was odd because she had none.

"Ick," she replied, "that sounds horribly painful."

"I would imagine so," Sable replied, for having never given birth himself, he could hardly realise the full agony. It had certainly been difficult for Skimmer, for the wings were always tricky. "I am a Windwalker from the World of Two Moons."

"Two Moons?" She queried. "That sounds vaguely familiar. Then welcome to Xanth, a world as bad as any I guess, and perhaps better than some."

Sable knew his ancestors had come from another world, but he doubted it was this one, this one was just plain twisted! "It is certainly strange," he commented, a vast understatement as he was to later learn, "so far I have breathed beneath the sea and ridden a Weedy Sea-Dragon."

"That's Xanth for you," she grinned ferally. "Perhaps we should bury that black bird of yours and then see about getting you home."

Sable was not used to burying the dead, but Hope led him to a nice bush and scuffed in the dirt with her talons. Following her lead they inhumed Scrag.

"So how do I get home?" He asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know, but I know someone who might, the Good Magician Humphrey. I asked him a question and he told me to wait on the Gold Coast of eastern Xanth. I've been here for near three weeks and now you're here."

"And this magician knows the answers to everyone's questions?"

Hope nodded. "If there is an answer, he will know it."

Sable paused, a dreadful thought forming in his mind. "And this magician, is he human?"

Hope chuckled. "Technically, but he's so old and shrivelled he looks like a gnome. There are a lot of humans in Xanth, and us human derivatives."

The elf frowned. Humans everywhere - he had to get back to Two Moons, although even there there were too many humans. Oh well, needs must and this Humphrey sounded like he was not really human. Sable could cope with not-really humans, but reall humans...

"Could you please take me to your magician?"

Hope nodded. "Of course, I thought you'd never ask."

The land of Xanth unfolded beneath them. Sable tried to remember as many of the landmarks as he could. There was a lot to see - small villages of houses more sophisticated than those he was used to, lakes and even castles. Whilst they flew, Hope told him about Xanth, and he was startled to find that it was, technically, ruled by humans. You could not escape them anywhere. He told her about himself, and his world, but not a lot, for Sable did not like to talk about himself, and was more answering questions. 

"Castle at eleven o'clock," Hope shouted.

Sable had no idea what this o'clock business, or even this eleven business, meant, but he could see the castle himself. Suddenly something very large was bearing down on them.

"Dive!" Hope screeched, her voice becoming harsh in true harpy fashion. Sable was not about to ignore her. Both of them pulled up and dove earthwards. And were forced to pull out of their dive as a large, flat rock-like fish snapped its jaws at them.

"Eek," screamed Hope in a most lady-like manner, with only the slightest shrill tinge to it. "Between a Roc and a hard Plaice!"

Again, Sable experienced the involuntary chill. "Where do we go?" He scanned the area. On the ground was the fish, above them the bird. Then he saw a tunnel between them. "In there!" He shrieked and flapped for the tunnel entrance, folding his wings against his chest in order to enter and crawling in as far as possible. Hope followed quickly behind him, transforming the tunnel into darkness. Outside there was a "thump" as the Roc met the Plaice.

"Um," stated Hope, "I forgot to tell you about the challenges." She paused. "And the year's service."

"What?!" Sable yelled. He then realised where he was. Most airborne creatures were mildly claustrophobic and Sable was worse than most - being captive in a shed for five years had the tendency to do that to you. As Hope began to explain, Sable began to panic. He pounded the walls of the tunnel as the fear welled in him. It did not take her long to realise what was happening.

"Shh," she whispered, "you'll be fine." She could not really hug him, as she had no arms, so she kissed him on the forehead instead. It was amazingly calming. Sable took a deep breath and eventually calmed himself down.

"Thanks," he said. The gratitude and relief was obvious in his tone.

"If you're in a hurry to get home, I shall do your year's service for you," she muttered, "it's not as if I have much else of any worth to do."

Sable patted her wing. "A year means little to me," he replied, "I will not trouble you to do my duty for me. Now, let's get out of here."

Hope stuck her head back out the tunnel. The huge Roc was still circling and the flat fish was grinning at her. "Not that way," she muttered.

Sable girdled his loins - whatever that means, and pushed his way further down the tunnel. The claustrophobia was unbearable. He could not spread his wings and the walls felt like they were closing in on him. Realising his fear, Hope muttered calming words, which helped. The tunnel disappeared into darkness, deep, impenetrable. Sable could feel his pulse racing as the fear rose in him, threatening to overflow. Hope dropped back, giving him space.

"Not far now," she whispered. Not that she had any idea, but it still worked on Sable's nerves. He breathed deep and continued. The walls grew slick with moisture and the tunnel slowly headed downwards. The air smelt of water - and something else. Suddenly the ceiling rose and luminous fungi lit the passage. It disappeared directly into a pool of water. The roof above was studded with stalactites, or was it stalacmites? Lime water dripped off them to splash in the waters.

Sable turned quizzically to Hope. "Was the castle like this for you?"

She shook her head, tangled hair flying. "No, it differs for every querant."

"Well,' sighed Sable, "I guess it's flying time." He unfurled his wings, only to find that the walls were too close for it.

"Perhaps we should swim?" Hope asked, "although I don't know how safe the water is."

Bending now, the pale elf sniffed the water. It smelt a little strange but he quickly forgot why. He dipped one finger tentatively into the water. The tip went numb.

"Why, you only have four fingers!" Hope exclaimed, noticing for the first time.

"How very kind of you to tell me," Sable muttered sarcastically, a little worried about his finger. "Although I can only feel three on this hand." He held up the damp hand for her to see.

"No burning or turning black?"

"Not in the least."

"It isn't poison or acid them," she muttered, more to herself. "Maybe something else then."

The feeling gradually returned to Sable's finger. He glanced at the stactites. "Well, if it is better not to swim, I might try something else."

Leaping into the air, he seized a stalactite in each hand. The rock was slick with moisture, but there were circlets about it to stop his hand sliding off. His balance was precarious, but desperate means... Slowly he moved one hand to grip another stalactite, squealing a little as one hand slipped down the rock. Hope stood on the far side, unable to fly for the same reason as he, and unable to climb for lack of hands. Unfortunately for Sable, the stalactites grew further apart the nearer the far shore he got. Soon he was having to swing his body so as to reach the next one. He slipped and one foot splashed in the water, showering him with wet.

Something strange happened then, for Sable suddenly forgot what he was doing. Why was he hanging above a pond? Who was that creature he could barely see on the far bank? Who was he? The only thought that remained in his head was that he could not remain hanging here forever, he had to get across. And since he could not recall if the creature on the far bank was friend or foe, it ws safer to head for the nearest bank. His hands were cold and somewhat reddened from the rough rock. His arms ached in muscles he did not use for flying. But he was on firm ground and there was nothing before him but a door.

He was about to open it when a voice called from the other side: "Sable, don't forget me!"

At that, memories flooded back. But how was Hope to cross? She could neither climb nor fly, and swimming was not advisable. He scanned the room. There was a shelf built into the wall. On it was a blue glass bottle, a piece of wood and a small whistle. Interesting. Sable picked up the bottle, uncorking it. From it oozed a fragrant, almost fruity odour. Holding that in one hand, he picked up the piece of wood. The fragrance immediately changed, becoming a bitter odour that made his eyes water. He quickly recorked the bottle and replaced it on the shelf, choking in the stench. The wood appeared normal, a dull brown with a lighter tinge. He felt heavier somehow. Still holding it, he picked up the whistle and blew it. A tuneless cacophany of notes erupted from it. The inkling of an idea began to form. Sable returned the wood to the shelf, and blew the whistle again. This time it emitted a beautiful melody. The wood changed things. And it could change the water from making you forget to making you remember.

"What are you doing?" Hope was becoming quite shrill, sounding almost obnoxious.

"Trying to get you across," Sable replied, and threw the wood into the water. It splashed, floating roughly near the centre. He dipped his finger in experimentally. It literally tingled with thereness. "You can cross now!" He yelled. Sending was so much more convenient. Hope tentatively waded into the water, letting out a confused squeal.

"Oh no," she whispered, "no, no, no."

Sable waded out to meet her. Memories did not frighten him, for Solitude-lust made him remember everything. He was still shocked at the touch of the water though - remembering the misery he had suffered at Torturer's hands, the alienation from his own flock when he lost the ability to Send, the death of his first child. All of it assaulted him and he hated to think how Hope must feel. She was whimpering, tears streaming down her cheeks as Sable took her wing and guided her to land. She fell sobbing in his arms. He squeezed her a little uncomfortably. Despite his years of life, he was still unsure where females were concerned.

"It was terrible," she whimpered, "my family loathed me - trying to hide their disappointment of my sex. And in Harpy-school I could never get the hang of swearing and the other children mocked me. My only friend was Gloha and she was different too because she was half-goblin. And then she left to find her perfect man and I was all alone."

This was perhaps the first evidence Sable had of how young she was. About the same age as his daughter, Seaswallow. She was 52 turns old, but perhaps they aged faster here, like the humans. The swearing bit confused him, but he dismissed it as a cultural thing. "There, there," he muttered somewhat distantly - in the manner of someone who did not know exactly what he was supposed to do.

Hope shook herself, seeming to shake of the depression. "It was probably a good thing you found the reverse wood," she said, "for otherwise I would no longer remember you."

He grinned. "Would that be such a bad thing?" He asked mischeviously.

"Oh yes," she said. "You're my reason for living."

That took his aback nicely. "What?!"

"That was my question," Hope explained, "how can I find a reason to live. The Good Magician sent me to the Gold Coast, where I met you. Hence you must be my reason for living."

Sable had thought she meant something else for a moment there. He did not know whether to feel relief or sadness.

"Anyway, onward?" Sable queried, throwing open the door.

And reeling back in shock at what lay beyond it. For the world was filled with a crowd of humans. They were seated, facing away from him and seemingly watching a stage. Suddenly one of them stopped before him. It was male and towered before him, looming like a demon. Sable tried to flee, fighting the fear and rage that welled in him, but the door had vanished. Hope looked as nervous as he did.

"Greetings, honoured guest," the human boomed, bowing formally. He was clad in a formal jacket with tails and black trousers. His skin was dark and his eyes glinted with humour. "Welcome to the third challenge."

He had said nothing offensive and made no menacing moves whatsoever, but Sable could no longer fight the hated reek. These were humans, his worst enemies and they all deserved to die. He sprang at the dark-skinned man, reaching for his throat.

Immediately he was seized by two other men, huge men were muscles like wrought iron and grins like snapjaws. He struggled, kicking, as they seized his wing-arms and hauled him away. Hope cursed at him.

"You stupid Windwalker," she shrilled, "how dare you attack that friendly man!"

Sable felt the guilt, but he could not control his hatred. The humans put him in a special chair, clawed hands grasped his wrists and ankles, another one fastened about his throat - firmly but not tightly.

The dark-skinned man knelt before him. "My name is Sherlock," he said, "pray, tell me why you hate our kind so much."

Sable sighed, inhaling deeply, ready to spit in Sherlock's face. Then he saw Hope and she looked frightened - disappointed and frightened. He could remember her saying "you're my reason to live," and strengthened his resolve. He breathed deeply and began his story. The story of how Torturer had caught him, killed the current Scrag and tied Sable up in a shed, keeping him captive for five years. How he had severed the tip of one of Sable's pointed ears, wearing the tip like a pendant and destroyed his soul. Sherlock watched, listening intently, occasionally nodding, but never laughing, never showing any glare at Sable's discomfit. Hope listened too, her dark eyes wide with alarm.

"Truly a tragic tale," Sherlock said when Sable was finished. "But you must realise, not all humans are like your Torturer. Many are decent beings. Remember the girl?"

Sable smiled at the memory of the child that had visited him in his torment, keeping him sane that little bit longer. She had brought him a biscuit. He nodded mutely, his throat sore from the strain of talking. At a nod from Sherlock one of the guards fetched him a glass of water, helping him to drink it.

"She brought you food and kept you company," Hope spoke up. "She was as human as Torturer, but much more humane."

The elf had to agree with that.

"I believe my Curse Friends have a performance for you," Sherlock stated. "Usually the Good Magician does not go into so much trouble for querants, but you are a special case, being from another world. I must confess," he grinned, "we have all benn curious to see the winged elf from the World of Two Moons."

Suddenly Sable was pushed, chair and all, to a position in front of the stage. As he watched, the humans seated behind him fell silent and the curtains parted.

On the stage lay a bird-woman, not a harpy but an actual armed woman. She was smaller than a human, indeed, slightly smaller than Sable. She appeared wounded. Her skin was dark, darker than that of Sable's nearly forgotten sister Aurora. A human wearing a tophat, a black and white suit and a garish peacock tie, walked onto the centre stage.

"Greetings ladies and gentlemen, harpy and Windwalker, welcome to our small stage in the castle of the Good Magician."

He bowed formally, and then resumed speaking, "Gloria the winged goblin had barely escaped from the clutches of the rogue dragon with her life. Now she lay alone in the darkness of the great forest, waiting for some landbound monster to come and eat her up, for she was surely a delicious morsal and so weakened from her wounds that she could barely move, let alone fly." His voice was strong, with the power to extend to the back of the audience. He stepped aside.

"Oh alas," the winged girl cried, sounding pained. "I am so sore and sick that I shall surely perish out here alone." She dragged herself into a sitting position using a fake tree as a support. She gasped in pain.

The stage darkened, hiding her from the audience's eyes. A creature, also winged but obviously a human in a costume, flapped across the stage. It appeared to be some sort of horned, winged lizard.

"Where be that delectable little damsel," the creature, and Sable suspected it was a dragon, hissed. "I can smell her tasty flesh."

The dragon flapped off and a human, clad in a shirt with voluptuous sleeves and tight pants, wandered across the stage from the other side. He was slashing about with a sword. "Oh darn," he muttered to himself (although it was loud enough to carry), "where oh where is the path, I have lost my way in this dark forest." He paused. "What is that I hear? The morbid moans of a mourning maiden?"

Sable gasped. The poor winged woman! She was doomed to death by a dragon or worse-than-death at the hands of the human. Sable knew what male humans did to female creatures of humanoid type - and the poor winged goblin was all but defenceless.

The dragon landed before her, licking its chops with a huge, realistic forked tongue.

"Hello delicious," it hissed.

The goblin girl shuddered, but was too weak to escape. "You are a winged monster," she whispered pathetically, "as am I, yet you break the covenant."

Although he did not really understand what she was talking about, Sable barely supressed a shudder. The poor female, if only someone could help her.

"Stop foul fiend," the human bellowed, waving his wooden sword in a threatening manner.

The dragon turned, drool dripping from its jowls in a manner so realistic Sable wondered if it were real. "Oh, another delectable morsal," the monster hissed. "This is my lucky day."

"I think not," the warrior replied.

Suddenly the two creatures attacked one another.

"Run!" Sable hissed, caught up in the play, but alas, the lady did not. She just tried to move, but fell with a groan of pain.

The fight continued, but Sable paid it little heed. It made no difference who won,the poor girl was still doomed. At least the dragon would finish her off quickly. Even if the slew one another, she would still die, from her injuries and exposure. He felt sorry for her, watching her doom unfold before her.

The human struck a mighty blow and the dragon lurched. Blood gushed from its chest. The human was also obviously wounded, but he staggered up to the winged girl and bowed to her. She shrieked in joy (Sable wondered why, when there was something worse than death about ot occur) and threw her arms around the human's waist, which was about as high as she could reach.

"You saved me from the drake," she said jubilantly.

"Yes milady, and now I shall escort you from this dark, dank forest."

"I thank you sir, and if there is anything I could do in return..." She left the question hanging, but somehow the connotations were obvious, Sable was astounded. She was actually offering herself to this foul beast! He waited for the human to accept her offer, but he did not.

The human shook his head. "No milady, just knowing that I have helped such a beautiful thing is reward enough." Sable gagged.

So he proceeded to escort her from the forest. It did not take long for them to find the path. She was limping and wounded, and so was he, so they leaned on each other and eventually made their way out. He neither enslaved or raped her and somehow, and Sable was not quite sure how, but this was just a story after all, they fell in love. Now that made Sable feel rather ill. Love, with a human?! The play continued for a while, with all sorts of events happening, but the elf was no longer paying attention. The play had made its point - not all humans were quite like Torturer. The madness was too deep seeded in Sable to be displaced easily, but he came up with a compromise. Humans on this world did not seem to be the same as those of Two Moons. They did not destroy what they could not understand. Which was probably good, because it appeared that to understand Xanth, one would have to be quite insane.

The play concluded with a marriage ceremony and the actors vanished backstage, bar the goblin girl. She glided from the stage and embraced Hope.

"Gloha!" Hope shrilled as the girl came to meet her. "What are you doing here without your man?"

Gloha grinned. She was attractive, and petite. "I came to visit Wira and the Gorgon asked if I could help with the Curse Friends play. It sounded like fun, so I agreed to help. I'm letting Graeboe have some time to do whatever it is that men like to do when their wives are absent. Haven't you finished your service? What are you doing here?"

"Trying to find my reason for living," Hope replied, sounding surprisingly cheerful for her. "I missed you at Harpy school."

"Sorry, but I never really fitted in there well, and now we are working on creating our own species. That's what happens when you're unique."

Hope shrugged. "At least you have an excuse for not fitting in, I'm just a hopeless harpy."

Meanwhile, the men freed Sable from his chair and directed him to the door. The desire to kill them had disipiated. These people were not the humans he knew and loathed.

The door opened into a hallway, in which hung a bell. One of the humans - they all looked alike to Sable, rang it and a small, delicate young woman came along the hallway. She curtseyed to him.

"Greetings Sable Windwalker," she smiled, not quite looking at him. It was disconcerting until Sable realised she was blind. This surprised him more than anything else, blindness was a massive flaw for any species, and very few blind elves would survive to this age. Even Snow, a chickhood friend of Sable's father, had not lived long, and he had some vision, had been claimed by his myopia.

"Hello," he said. "I have come to ask a question of the Good Magician Humphrey." The name seemed so silly that Sable wondered if he were any good. But who was he to judge?

"Of course," Wira stated. "Please follow me." She walked with such confidence that it was hard to observe her flaw. After climbing steps, steps and more steps, some of which were very dark, eventually they terminated at a sturdy oaken door. As Wira opened it, he heard a gruff voice.

"Oh, you finally made it I see, about time."

Sable walked into a crowded room - books, glass containers of bubbling liquids, cases with animal parts and all manner of all paraphenalia littered every available surface. He noticed Wira stayed near the door, surely she could not navigate this junkheap! In the midst of it all, a small, ancient, wrinkled man sat at a desk before a huge book. Technically, he was human, but so gnome-like that it did not set off Sable's phobia.

"Well, what do you want? Haven't got all day."

Sable gulped, feeling almost threatened. But what was there to be afraid of? A little, old man? "I want to go home," he muttered. "To the World of Two Moons."

Humphrey sat bolt upright. "Ah, yes," he said, peering over some circular glass discs that were perched across his nose. "I see the resemblance to Jenny now, four fingers, one pointed ear. An elf I would surmise, but an elf with wings. I think she would be most interested in meeting you."

"Will that help me get home?"

The magician frowned. "I have some bad news for you I am afraid. You are not able to return there, it is quite impossible." He did not sound sorry in the slightest.

Sable was shocked, certainly he disliked certain things about Two Moons, but it was his home and this world was too bizarre for words. "But I am told you know the answer to everything," he muttered angrily.

"And this is your answer - you are stuck here. If it makes you feel better and gets you out of my castle sooner, I shall not charge you the year's service." He waved Sable away.

"But..." Sable began.

"Goodbye," Humphrey stated most pointedly.

"Best to leave," Wira added. "Before he gets too grumpy."

But it was too late, Sable had had enough of this man's arrogant manner. He had a low tolerance for obnoxious people. He had low tolerance of practically everyone. Sable sprang athletically onto the table, landing directly on the huge tome, and probably leaving dirty marks on it from his still-damp boots. With one hand he flicked the knife from his belt. Although he did not menace the magician, he did fondle the blade in a meaningful fashion. A look of acute fear crossed the magician's face as Sable's green eyes bore down on him, the madness shining in them like stars.

"What are you doing?" Despaired Wira, she knew something was wrong, but dared not intervene in this crowded room.

"Help me get home," Sable muttered through clenched teeth.

Humphrey was obviously waiting for the elf to bite him. "It is impossible!"

"There must be a way, if you can get in, you can get out!" He waved the knife about and slid the blade across his hand. He had a knife and he knew how to use it.

Eventually Humphrey hung his head. "There is a way."

"Tell me!"

"It might not work - and if it does not it could destroy you. Or," he paused for dramatic reasons, "it could destroy us all."

"Tell me!"

Much to Wira's horror, Humphrey did. Playing with portals was not fun for the inexperienced. Very, very dangerous in fact. If something went wrong there was no telling what might come through. She would have to talk to Hope. If anyone could dissuade Sable from killing them all, and persuade him that Xanth was not too bad, it was her. Perhaps Jenny could help. She had come from Two Moons many years ago and seemed to be happy here.

The magician rattled off a list of items and locations, scrawling them down on a scrap of paper. When he handed it to Sable the elf hastely folded it away in his belt pouch. It was not as if he could read it.

"You must get all of these items for the spell to work," the magician stated slowly and forcefully. "If you miss one, something could go absurdly wrong. If you get something that you think is the right one but isn't, something very wrong could occur. So take care. Now," and there was a tone of despair in his voice, "kindly leave and may the demon Xanth protect us all from your folly.

Sable was momentarily startled at Humphrey's tone. He wondered what exactly was going to happen if it did go wrong. But the Magician did not seem inclined to take questions kindly, so he bade him farewell and quickly left. Wira led him back to the hall, but she was very quiet and ignored any queries he made of her. What had he done to upset them? All he wanted to do was go home!

It was dark outside, but it seemed nobody was going to suggest he stay the night or offer him food, so he appeared to be on his own. Hunger gnawed at him once more so he set about catching something for supper. At least the roc and the land fish had gone. There seemed little life around the castle, but eventually he came across a meal sized lizard. It was drinking from the castle's moat, so Sable dived it from above. It was dead before it knew what had hit it. He dragged it away and skinned it almost blindly - it was too dark to really see clearly, but Sable had skinned so many kills he could do it with his eyes shut. As he ate the meat, which was somewhat salty and not nearly as tasty as the bird he had caught earlier, he thought about the events of the day. It had most certainly been a bizarre day, in a bizarre world, but Hope seemed friendly enough, if a little too depressive. The trials, the amount of humans and those constant cold chills he experienced were somewhat disconcerting though. He wished he were back home in the World of Two Moons where at least he understood most of the things and places and did not have to converse with grumpy humans. The humans here seemed to be an unusual lot though, for there behaviour was just different, they seemed kinder in some ways, but were probably just planning more subtle mischief. Sable finished off the lizard and clambered into a tree. Once he got into the branches a strange calmness enveloped him, a deep inner peace. Everything would be fine, he would be home soon. Purely by coincedence, he had chosen a senreni-tree to sleep in. Quickly the darkness of sleep consumed him and he sunk into a blissful slumber.


	2. chapter 2

Daylight bet an assault against his eyeballs and it took all the Windwalker's energies to pry open his eyelids

_Against all odds, I actually continued this story! I needed a break from all the Pokemon I've been writing and my serious "one day it might be published" work. So, I thought I'd take a break in Xanth and actually continue the tale of Sable and Hope. I shall write more at a later date, and that's a threat! _

Xanth is not mine – but Hope and Sable are. So are the Lemures, when you get to meet them. Sable is from the World of Two Moons which belongs to the Pinis, but he is a Windwalker which belong to me – confused yet? I am! All mis-spellings of "foul" are entirely intention, please don't point them out to me. 

Enjoy!

Oh, and for all the people who kindly pointed out that there is already an ElfQuest elf in Xanth – I know that, and I can see you haven't been paying much attention to the story either… Jenny just doesn't strike me as being a typical elf, of course, neither does Sable, he's a little messed up, which is why we love him dearly! 

[trial footnote][1]

*** 

Daylight bet an assault against his eyeballs and it took all the Windwalker's energies to pry open his eyelids. He was so at ease, so peaceful. He fought against the effect of the Sereni-tree and finally managed to ease himself into a sitting position. There seemed to be something going on by the moot-front. Hope was arguing with a moderately portly young man with unmemorable features. There was something at their feet, the white remnants of Sable's late night snack.

"He doesn't understand our ways," the harpy was explaining with much gesturing.

"My father is going to have a canary at this," the young man replied, "and you know how awful it is when those birds start flying all over the house. It took us a week last time to extract the last one from the ventilation system." He sighed. "Well, I guess maybe Souffle will have to stand in."

"Roar?" A large serpentine head rose from the water, staring at them with saucer-shaped eyes.

Hope sighed again, her petite bosom heaving. The lad's eyes appeared fit to bulge. "I'm sorry for the trouble we have caused you, Hugo."

Hugo, as Sable recognised he must be, nodded. He seemed to have lost his voice somewhere along the way.

"Anyway, I best be going." She nodded in Sable's direction and Hugo watched her departing, padding across the ground on those awkward bird feet.

Easily, despite the influence of the tree, Sable dropped onto the ground, carefully arranging his wing feathers. "I am sorry to have caused you trouble," he said formally, glad he had not been forced to face the lad himself. Despite his newfound tolerance, Sable was not comfortable within a ten metre radius of humans. Whatever ten metres was.

Hope blushed, her light brown skin turning pinkish around the cheeks. "Don't worry about it," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "It seems that last night you chose to eat a basilisk, which Humphrey had ordered for his latest Querant. You have no idea how much trouble they go to for it. Anyway," she quickly brushed over the topic, as though afraid Sable might feel guilty, "the magician gave you a list, what's the first thing on it?"

Sable fossicked through his pouches, eventually extracting the rolled up scroll. It was covered in tiny scribblings, like the claws of birds, he could not make head nor tail of it. After a moment, he held it up for Hope to read. She turned visibly pale as she read through the list.

"It appears you must collect these items in order," she gulped, "and the first is 'the hair of one long lost, a reminder of home.'"

"Scrag?" He queried.

She shook her head. He noticed now that she must have groomed herself last night, for her hair was now free of its twigs and debris, and decorated instead with small, delicate butterfly clips. Occasionally they unfolded their wings, beating them gently in the sunlight. "Scrag is a raven, ravens don't have hair. Besides, he, and you, were only short lost."

"Strange," he replied, "I doubt there is anyone here from my home."

"Of course!" If Hope could have snapped her fingers, she would have. She bounced so suddenly that a couple of her butterflies flapped into the air in fright. "Jenny!"

"Jenny?"

"We're not going to get far if you repeat everything I say!" Hope scolded. "Jenny Elf, of course, she's from your world! We must go and see her straight away!"

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Sable spread his wings and stretched them. "How far is it?"

"Well, that's the problem," Hope gulped, "We have to head first to the paradox and then wait for paras, the magic boat, who may or may not take us to the right island."

Sable was completely lost here, and so might I, the author be, since I do not own "Zombie Lover" and may misremember a few parts of it. If I do, please don't loathe me for it! I try my best. "Err, excusing my ignorance?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I forget that Xanth ways are somewhat strange to outsiders! Jenny Elf has married Jeremy Wolf, and they live on the Isle of Wolf, which is amongst the Isles of Joey and therefore off the Gold Coast, where I met you. The only trouble is, it changes places with quite a few other islands, and the only way to get there is on a boat called Paras. We can't easily just fly over there, we have to wait for it."

Sable nodded. "Well, little bird, led on!"

"Little bird?" Hope stared at him, a little puzzled. She was blushing pinkly a little.

The Windwalker smiled, something unusual on his face, a slight shy smile barely recognisable as such. "It is a term of endearment given to fledglings," he replied. "I am sorry if I offended you."

"No, not at all," the harpy whispered in reply. She lurched awkwardly into the air and Sable flapped after her. It was strange here, flying was so much easier – almost as though he were lighter. Perhaps it was something to do with the magic in this demented world.

*

The return journey to the Gold Coast was taken at a much more leisurely pace, and so it was, at noon, that the two of them alighted by the side of a slender, beautiful river. Small, beauteous plants adorned the banks, and there just seemed something friendly in the air.

"The Kiss Mee river," Hope said, rearranging her plumage to be more comfortable. "Lovely isn't it, such a romantic spot." Her eyes seemed shiny, but Sable could not understand why.

"Kiss Mee?" He asked, pondering the unusual name. For elves, as all us ElfQuest fans know, do not kiss, and Sable had no knowledge of such actions.

And it was then that Hope did an unusual thing. She leaned towards him, so that her chest feathers brushed up against his tunic, puckered her full lips and brought them to his lips, brushing them ever so gently. He felt dampness, but it was not entirely unpleasant. She drew away and he saw that she was a vicious red colour, blushing madly.

"Well, you did ask," she said, turning her face away.

Sable felt an odd stirring, something not as fiercesome a foe as recognition, something much simpler, much softer. He forced it down and glanced along the river bank. "Err, shouldn't we find something to eat?"

Hope nodded, still not willing to look him in the face. "I think it best if I find the food," she muttered, her voice a little shaky. Awkwardly she hopped alongside the waters. They chuckled merrily to themselves, a real babbling brook. 

"I best accompany you," Sable pointed out, "for I can help you carry it."

She let out a tiny choking cry and he saw her eyes were damp with moisture again. She was upset. What had he done this time? He sighed, realising that he could not understand the wiles of the feminine mind.

After a time they sat together, sharing a lunch of crab apples, lightly roasted on a patch of fireweed. The skin of the crab apples was thick, too hard to bite through and completely indigestible, but the flesh within was sweet and succulent. You just had to watch the pincers as you cooked them.

Hope appeared to have calmed down somewhat now. "Do you recall what the Magician said?" She asked. It was hard for her to eat, since she lacked hands, but she had found a blade of speargrass and was holding that in her talons, dipping it in the crab apple shell and delicately nibbling the meat off the end.

Sable shrugged. His memories were a fragile, fleeting thing, some lost as soon as they were made, others tormenting him forever. "Not really."

"What you are doing could unmake Xanth," Hope replied, "do you not care?"

"Unmake Xanth? Oh, for goodness sake, you don't believe the lies of that human do you? He just wanted to keep me captive here. Besides, I can do it right, I've got you here to help me." He stared morosely into the middle distance.

"And some of these things are quite terrible," Hope continued, "I mean, they're all written in riddle. You'd think if it was something that could unmake Xanth the Magician would write them in plain Xanthian." She sighed, "but no. I mean, 'The shed sorrow from the protector of the great divide,' and 'A tiny pinch of nothingness.' I mean, honestly… It's a good thing I'm here to help you, or the world really would end."

Sable had forgotten to listen, his mind had returned to something that had happened before. With typical elven tact, he did not try even subtly approaching the subject. "What you did before, when I said 'Kiss mee', what was it?"

Pinkness crept across her face again, it was quite amazing really. "A kiss," she replied, looking embarrassed. "You asked and I provided. It's a way of expressing affection."

"Kiss," his tongue explored the unusual word. "It is not something I have ever done before. It was … nice."

She smiled faintly, if a little sadly. "Alas, I am not vested in the art. There is little need of a Harpy to kiss anything. Anyway, our appetite is satiated, let us continue on our way."

And so they did, although not without sadness and a certain melancholic longing, on the Harpy's behalf.

*

The sun sunk beneath the horizon, the world covered in a delightful glow that seemed to stir the waters on fire and made everything look softer. Exhausted, Sable landed on the seashore, only a few metres from a strange wooden structure. His arms throbbed, the muscles in his back singing with pain. Flight may have been easier, but it was no kinder on him. He glanced across at Hope and saw a similar expression of agony of her face. She flexed her wings a couple of times then folded her wings up, pulling a face.

"Quite a flight," she said, grinning, a little fakely, in Sable's opinion.

"Quite a flight," he agreed. "And I have flown both far and wide."

Hope stalked towards him, perching on a log. "Your world must be very exciting," she said, looking rather shy, "perhaps you might like to tell me about it?"

"No," he replied, having to turn away from the expression of pain on her features. It was almost as though he had physically struck her. "I do not wish to talk about it."

Biting her lip, as though to keep from crying, Hope turned, so that she faced out across the waters. Birds roosted along the shore line, the same birds he had seen, and eaten only a couple of days before hand. Much to his surprise, one of them stalked towards him.

"Have you found the one true Lord?" It asked, in a surprisingly humanoid voice, although somewhat reedier.

"What?" Sable's hand slipped to the knife he carried in his belt. Ever so carefully he drew it, trying to keep it hidden from the bird's beady black eyes.

"The Creator of all, because, if you had, perhaps you'd like to point Him in my direction!"

Sable drew the knife carefully, readying it for the blow.

And suddenly the long legged bird squawked and flapped away, as some sort of missile whistled through the air and thudded at its feet.

Cursing, and shocked to find that no words came out, Sable turned on Hope. "What do you think you were doing?" He screeched, still brandishing the knife.

With a startled scream, the harpy stood up and backed away. "The, the godwit was bothering you, I thought," her voice was getting shrill, as it did when she was startled, its pitch starting to hurt her ears, "don't hurt me! I didn't mean to upset you!"

Sable then realised that he was aiming a knife at her. Blushing slightly he quickly stowed it away in his belt, he felt somewhat guilty, and fought back his anger. It had been a long time since he had really had company. He must remember that.

"It would have been our dinner," he snarled, before turning his back to her and crossing his arms, strolling across the beach. He could not face her right now. That look of fear on her face, it had burned him, burned him deeply. Everyone it seemed either feared him or loathed him. He was the outsider, the outcast. The silent one.

His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. On the sand in front of him small birds, with shorter legs then the godwits and somewhat faster on their feet, skittered about. He paused for a moment, watching what they were doing. There were three of them, and they seemed to be involved in some sort of strange dance. Firstly, one bird would peck out lines of dots in the sand, forming a square about two eights by two eights (16 by 16 for those using base 10 mathematics). Then each of the birds would take turns drawing lines between the dots, and when one formed a box, it would plant its foot firmly in the middle, leaving a neat footprint. The bird's feet were different from each other too, the toes positioned differently.

"Dotterals," a voice said behind him, and he turned, despite himself, to find Hope standing there, staring at him meekly. "Please forgive me Sable. I didn't know you wished to eat them. Please, accept this by means of an apology." She drew forward a sack with one claw, and unwrapped something – some sort of food stuff from the smell of things. "It's a chicken pie," she said, "I thought you might like it, cos, well, a chicken's a bird and there are easier ways to get things to eat here then to kill the wildlife."

Sable accepted the proffered pie, sniffing at it cautiously. It smelt just like cooked meat. The Windwalker had not dined upon cooked meat in quite some time. He took a bite through the thick pastry crust. The meat inside was hot, and steam poured out into the air. It was delicious, absolutely delicious.

Suddenly the godwits took to the air, making an immense racket. Sable jumped about a foot in the air, dropping the pie into the sand. The sound, the sound absolutely terrified him. He must hide now, run for cover! Trodding on the remnants of the pastry in his haste, he bolted, flapping into the air. A few moments later, heart pounding, he alighted in a tree and sat down. Slowly his heart resumed its normal pacing.

"What the *deleted* happened there?" He asked, as Hope flapped to land beside him, looking rather shame-faced and blushing like a peach.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, staring at the ground, "I told you I'm hopeless, I did it again. I forgot that chicken pies turn one into a scaredy cat."

"Scaredy cat?" Sable glanced at his hands, noticing they were covered in short black fur, which disappeared whilst he looked at them. "What the *deleted* is wrong with this place?"

It was almost a rhetorical question, but Hope answered anyway. "The land of Xanth is built around puns," she explained. "Puns and childhood innocence. As you may have noticed, you cannot emit certain words. That is due to the Censorship, a terrible ship that prevents people from speaking their mind. It is also due to a horrible thing called the Adult Conspiracy. Even though I am a Harpy, and we are taught fowl language from birth, it appears that here, far from my home roost, the conspiracy is in effect." She blushed, staring at the ground. "Until I turn eighteen, in a few weeks from now, you cannot use swear words around me, nor can we discuss," she paused, "stork summoning."

"But we discussed that yesterday!" Sable pointed out, confused. In his tribe things of an intimate nature had been common knowledge since fledglinghood, at about the age of two and a half eights of summers (20 for those who can't count, and since Windwalkers have a longer life span, this is about ten in human years). There had certainly been no attempt to hide such information from the chicks, although, thanks to his rather messed up childhood, Sable had spent most of those formative years trapped in a squalid shed, playing "pet" to a malicious human. And so the seeds of hate had been born.

"No," Hope pointed out, "we discussed stork delivery, the err, ordering process, is something else entirely."

"How you can even trust birds, with their feathery brains, with such an important task is entirely beyond me," Sable muttered. "Do you fill out order forms or something – 'I'd like a bouncy baby boy with black hair and wings and blue eyes please.'"

Again, Hope glanced away, trying to hide her scarlet cheeks. "I am sorry if I method of doing things offends you." She whispered.

Sable, once again, felt horribly guilty. He put his hand on her shoulder, marvelling at how soft and feathery her hair was – just like the down of a new chick. She was not really that displeasing to the eye, despite her strangely mutated lower body, her face and eyes were almost pretty. Sable felt a sort of desperate longing. Recognition was a wonderful thing, but it would be good, just for once, to engage in such acts, "stork summoning" as she called it, without being driven to by some strange and irresistible force. To take things slowly, tentatively. Then he remembered what she had said about being too young, and pulled his hand away, as though burned.

It would not work – could never work. He was a fool even to allow such things to cross his mind.

She turned to him, her eyes bright, wet with tears, and he realised then how close he had got to going too far. His being here was changing this world too much – he could not torment it further by breaking its rules, however bizarre they might be.

"So, where's this magic boat then?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

The duck-footed boat scampered along the seashore, chasing the godwits and dotterals as though it were some sort of dog. When Sable approached it, it backed up, almost tripping over its many feet in nervousness. Paras was bizarre, but Sable had been inflicted by many strange things here, and one more surprise did not matter too much. He accepted the fact that here was one of those float-on-water devices running around as though alive. It was just another one of the many Xanthian quirks.

"Please," he said, holding out his hands, "I'm not going to hurt you!"

The boat backed up, stopped and seemed to be eyeing him up and down, although it had no eyes and certainly no ears either. 

"Would you please be so kind as to escort us to the Isle of Wolf?" Hope asked. It turned to, for want of a better word, face her, took two steps forward and backed up a little again, turning to Sable once more. "Please, he's mostly harmless!"

Sable had to crack a grin at that one. Mostly harmless indeed!

The boat swayed from side to side, plainly shaking its, well, self. Then the feet started moving and it walked away, rather swiftly, backwards, sinking back into the water.

Hope sighed, shrugging her wings in hopelessness. "Its no use, I think Paras must know what your quest could do to Xanth. Perhaps you should reconsider? Xanth is not really all that bad, and surely you could get used to being so far from your kin. There are many different species here, maybe you could even find some that you get along with."

"I must go home," Sable replied, "the world of Two Moons holds little for me, but the world of Xanth holds even less. This place is terrible, Hope, it is filled with silliness and stupid restrictions. I cannot live here."

He had offended her, and he knew it, for her eyes were getting that glistening effect again. Once again, the stupid Windwalker had overstepped the mark. "It is a good land," she said, her voice shrill.

"That it may be," he replied, "but it is not my land. Surely you can understand that? My home hurt me greatly, but, I feel drawn to it, a bond with it, something I cannot easily let go. How would you like to find yourself in a strange world? I mean, stranger then this."

"I would miss home," she replied, biting her lip, "for all its insults and terrors, I would miss Xanth. I understand. I think. But maybe Jenny will help you change your mind. She seems quite happy here."

"She has found love," Sable replied, as though that explained everything. "How can we convince the boat to escort us there?"

"We must find something it likes," she seemed disorientated by his sudden change of topic, but it had been getting too personal for him to continue on that train of thought any longer. 

"Or we could use another method of bargaining," Sable pondered.

Hope's tanned skin paled again. "I would ask you not to bully it as you did the poor Good Magician, but I have a feeling you just wouldn't listen."

He looked at her worried expression and her dark eyes, so filled with sadness. Then he turned away. "It worked before, it will work again. It is the only way I know."

"Then do not expect me to help you," she replied. And then she slowly flew away.

Oh well, it was not as if he needed her anyway. So, he had to catch the boat. That would be easily done, judging by the fact that it was still chasing the birds up and down the beach. He left the beach and fossicked about in the undergrowth, eventually finding a strange plant that had a large fruit on it. The fruit had a thin, transparent skin, and when he peeled it back, out fell what looked, for all the world, like a roughly woven blanket. Well, Sable was not about to argue. A blanket would work sufficiently for what he had planned. Now, he had to find something to light a fire with.

After further search, a plume of smoke caught his eye, perhaps there was a fellow traveller, who would be willing to spare a brand from his fire. He approached gingerly, and was quite startled when he saw a small flowering plant, with delicate red-tinged petals, steaming gently into the early morning air.

Throwing the blanket over his shoulder, he tentatively picked the bud. It was warm to the touch and there was a small red flame buried beneath the petals. "Fireweed," he whispered, carrying it gingerly back towards the Paradox. 

He could not see Hope at all, and a part of him was sad at the prospect that she had abandoned him. He did not know why it saddened him that she had vanished. He had got this far in life alone, and surely a bit more solitude would not harm him.

"Nice duck footed boat," he called, hiding the blanket and the fireweed behind his back. 

Paras padded up to him curiously, cocking its "head" on one side, curiously. The feet bet against the sand, making a soft squishing noise. It would not come any closer. 

"Please," Sable said, "I've been doing some thinking, and I would still really like you to escort me to the Isle of Wolf. Will you be so kind as to take me there?"

The boat paused for a long moment, then shook itself again, in denial.

"Right then, I'm sorry it had to come to this."

In one fluid motion Sable drew out the blanket and flung it over the boat. It was a big blanket, and when Para tried to walk backwards away, its feet caught on the blanket and it stumbled. Sable drew out the fireweed.

"Do you know what this is?" He did not know how the boat sensed things, but it seemed sentient, to a point. Gently he drew back one of the petals, letting a wisp of smoke straggle free. "This is fireweed, and fire is very bad to wood, isn't it?"

The poor boat was shivering now, obviously frightened.

"Right, well, take me and the young lady to the Isle of the Wolf, and I promise I won't burn you. How's that sound?"

Slowly, reluctantly, the boat tried to make its way to the water's edge, struggling with the heavy covering. It rested in the water in such a manner that Sable could have sworn it had sighed in defeat. He drew the blanket off, folding it neatly inside, and perched on the narrow seating, holding the fireweed in a prominent position.

"Hope!" He called, "Hope, we're ready to go!" He could feel the boat shaking beneath him, vibrating in a manner that was not entirely caused by water.

For the longest moment he thought the harpy was not going to join him, then he saw her, flapping towards him. She alighted in the boat, glaring at him.

"I hope you realise I do not approve of this one bit," she snarled, "but you need me along, lest you cause even more mischief." Softly she caressed Para's side, her wing gentle on the varnished surface. Sable felt his heart lurch once more. He really was a terrible person.

But he was not about to admit to anything. "Boat, take us to the Isle of Wolf," he commanded.

Still shivering, the boat began paddling out across the waters. The waves were gentle, lapping against the sides, and Sable felt some of the tension draining. How long had he spent, sitting by the water's edge, wishing he had something to say to the Wavedancers, something to do with his Recognised, Skimmer. He had hardly even known his own daughter. Seaswallow, elf of the air and the waves, a beautiful chick and one he could well be proud of.

Hope stared out across the waters, watching the shore disappear behind them, saying not a word, and Sable knew she had not forgiven him, would never forgive him. She came only to stop him doing greater harm to her beloved world. And look at what he had done upon entering here… He had threatened the beloved (if grumpy) Good Magician, eating a basilisk intended for a challenge, attacked the black-skinned human, bullied a boat into serving him… Truly, he was black of heart. And it was all Torturer's fault. But could he really continue to blame that human for all the evils in his life? It had been many hands of seasons, more then two eights and a half human lifespans. Torturer was long dead, lying in the ground, nothing more then skin and bones. Could he really hold a grudge quite that long?

But he had.

He allowed his eyes to study Hope for a moment – her small, strange figure, half bird, half humanoid, with her large nose and huge, dark eyes, so huge and innocent. Her wings, folded across her back, like tiny sails, and he felt a drawing on his heart. He had dragged her into this, dragged her into something that could, ultimately, destroy everything she held dear.

But he had to go home. This world was strange, and terrible, and quite nauseating. As much as his memories tortured him, he could not escape them by fleeing the world he knew.

Across the waters the dark shape of an island could be seen.

Sable gulped. "Hope?" He asked tentatively.

She grunted, barely audible above the waves. It was an acknowledgement of a sort, but she was not about to talk to him.

"I'm sorry."

She muttered something again, something fowl that he could not hear, but that had not been censored either. Maybe this far from shore they had escaped the influence of the censorship. Several of the butterflies, which still clung to her hair, curled up their wings and fell to the bottom of the boat, so it must have been a very powerful curse. They twitched slightly, slowly recovering once the effect had passed.

Glumly he sighed, and turned his attention back across the water. He would have to find a way to make her forgive him. He stroked Para's wooden finish. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the boat. A tremor passed beneath his hand, as though the boat were adding _I'm sorry too._

A dock rose out from the waters before them, completing the pair-o'-docks. Para slid gently against it and Sable scrambled off, tossing the fireweed into the water as he left, in a manner that was sure to let both Hope and the boat see (if Para could indeed see). The island was small, and dark, and everything about it reeked of boding. Dark trees, bare of leaves, rose from the sides, from earth that was black and sterile. The ground was littered with fragile leaf skeletons. Thick black moss, moss that oozed, dribbled down the trunks of the trees. There were no wolves in sight.

Sable ran back to the dock, but Para had retreated out into the water, and was bobbing on the waves, as though laughing at him. His fireweed was gone – and the boat would not return to the dock. It had successfully tricked him. He glanced at Hope, who had not moved from the dock and was staring across the waters, still pointedly ignoring him. Her shoulders were high, her wings obscuring the more human parts of her anatomy. No one could look anymore dejected.

"We can always fly back," Sable remarked.

"It's not that easy," she sighed, and motioned upwards with one wing. Floating in the sky was a small, harmless, grey cloud. Otherwise, the sky was a crystalline blue.

"What, it's only one cloud?! I can fly with one cloud above me!"

She shook her head. "It's Cumulo Fracto Nimbus," she replied, "the worst of all clouds. Do not *expletive* him off, or he'll give you a dousing you'll never forget. He followed us here."

"How can a cloud be a 'he'? It's just a small, harmless cloud…" His voice faltered as he saw the small grey cloud transform into a not-so small grey cloud, gradually increasing in mass. "Oh."

"Yes. I suggest you don't anger him. Or we'll have to retreat into the spooky forest."

"Where are we anyway?"

Hope gulped, she was scared, he noted, fear had made her talk to him once more. "We appear to have reached the Haunted Isle. A place none dare go."

There was no response to that. Sable realised it had not been him doing the tricking – the boat had been in control all along. "Is there anywhere safe?"

"I do not know – none who have been here dare speak of it. It is more terrifying then any of the other haunted places in Xanth, even the Gourd. For there the evils are skeletons, and ghouls – here they are things you never see."

"That doesn't sound so bad. What's the Gourd?"

"It is easier to be frightened of what you cannot see then what you can," Hope replied, her voice shaking and cracking. "I hate you," she added, very quietly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sable replied, but there was nothing more he could say. He had hurt her, upset her, and now the two of them were trapped on this horrible, maleficant isle. It seemed an inappropriate time to beg for forgiveness. "Is there anywhere safe?"

"There are legends," she replied, "but I do not know much of them – I never went to Centaur school, and harpies have little concern for geography, except for a place to decorate with their droppings." She shuddered. "But once, a bard did come to our flock, a Harpy bard, with her feathers dyed in brilliant colours and a banana about her head."

"Don't you mean bandana?" Sable asked.

"No," Hope replied, then continued, "she told us a story about the Haunted Isle, an Isle that would drive you mad, and how she had met a human that had been there once, and his mind had been shattered by all he had seen and heard. He spoke of a great labyrinth, called the Singhe, for the noise the wind made as it moved through the rocks, and at its centre was a beautiful paradise. But the paradise was protected by _lemures_, spirits of the dead, who would allow now to reach its centre. He had been stranded on this Isle, whilst seeking the Isle of Woman, having displeased Para, much as we were today. So he sought out the sanctuary of the centre, but become lost in the singing rocks and the _lemures_ got him, and broke his mind."

"Should we just stay on the shore then?"

Hope glanced across the barren shore, and nodded, "I think we should."

As if in response to her words, the sky above crackled, and both pairs of eyes turned upwards, staring at Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, king of clouds. He had expanded in size so that now he covered the whole of the beach in darkness. As they watched, lightning danced across his surface, and Sable imagined he could see a face, grinning evilly down on them.

Suddenly the cloud broken open, and a wall of rain fell on them. Luckily, like all birds, Sable had oil in his feathers, to stop them sticking in the rain, so he did not become an immediate bedraggled mess, but the rain was so thick that one could not hope to fly in it – it would be like flying through a river.

"We'll have to take shelter in the forest!" Hope shrieked, dashing for the skeletal trees. Sable darted after her, and behind them came a roll of thunder as the evil cloud laughed heartily at their misfortune.

"Schadenfreude," Hope muttered.

"That's quite a swear word!" Sable commented, shaking the water from his hair. His feathers were not too badly off, but his hair was matted and drenched thoroughly.

"Its not a swear word, its an old word the harpies use – it means seeing humour in another's misfortune. Harpies are rather skilled at that."

Skeletal leaves crackled beneath his feet, and he picked one up. It was so delicate and fragile it appeared to be made of lace. Indeed, it was almost beautiful. The leaves were the only thing of beauty in this dying forest. The black bark of the trees was oily to the touch. "I guess we go in search of this paradise then?" Sable suggested. He certainly did not want to linger here, in this decaying forest.

Hope shrugged. "I don't care," she replied, "I just want to get out of here as soon as possible." She was moving closer to the Windwalker, probably more from fear then that she had forgiven him. He doubted she would forgive him for a long time. If ever. And he had to confess, he had been rather ruthless. Of course, the boat had not been quite as gullible as he had thought – depositing them here.

He placed his hand on Hope's shoulder, and she did not shrug it off, or push him away. 

Together they walked deeper into the dark forest…

This is a footnote to see if there is a way that you can insert such things at the bottom of your page so that you can use footnotes and not have to scroll. If this works, email me and I'll tell you how to do it!   
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